Reach For Me

by Elizabeth Cole

  Still, nothing seemed to be happening.

  But then things changed. A permit to improve the property was posted at the front gate, along with a sign advertising job positions on the site. Mal wanted one of those positions, and he lied about his identity a little, just in case someone would recognize the name Salem and get curious. He also lied about his address. And his work history.

  Ok, he lied a lot to get the job.

  But sometimes you had to do bad things for good reasons.

  Still chatting idly with the other guys, Mal was distracted at the sight of Cara emerging from the office trailer. The sun hit her like a spotlight.

  “Who’s that?” one of the guys muttered.

  She pulled her long, lovely hair into a ponytail and tucked it away under a hard hat she pulled from nowhere, then walked over to them. The workers all stood in a semicircle, waiting to see what was going to happen. No one had seen her before, and Mal doubted that any of them had heard the foreman was actually a forechick.

  She pulled out her clipboard. “Ok. Quick roll call. Dan.”

  “Uh, that’s me.” A guy half raised his hand, like he was in school and she was a teacher. Dan was rail-thin and wiry, with shaggy hair and a seventies mustache. He was the oldest of the crew.

  “Reyes.”

  “Si. Yes, ma’am.” Reyes was short and stocky. He had one of those open, friendly faces, with brilliantly white teeth in a wide smile.

  “Barry.”

  “How you doin’,” Barry drawled. Everything about him, from his shoulders to his Steelers cap, said that he was once the star of his high school football team and still thought he was God’s gift to the whole town.

  “Jalen.”

  “Yeah.” That was the black man who spoke. He barely looked at her, and Mal privately marked him down as one of those perennially surly types. Didn’t matter, as long he got the job done.

  “Malachy,” she said, looking at him like she’d never seen him before.

  “Call me Mal,” he responded, more for the guys’ benefit, since Cara already knew that and seemed determined to ignore it.

  “And that makes you Kevin,” she said to the final person.

  “Yep.” Kevin was a compact dude, not much taller than Reyes. Mal guessed he was the brainiest of the bunch.

  She nodded, satisfied that her paperwork was in order. “Morning, gentlemen. You were hired for this job by Morningside Law Offices. My name is Cara Michaels. Mr. Morningside selected me to head up this project because I have a background in historical preservation and restoration. As you’ve undoubtedly realized, I’m a woman.”

  “Yeah, we got that,” Barry said, grinning at her.

  Cara didn’t return his smile. She looked them all over. Her icy gaze lingered on Mal for a split second longer. “Here’s the rules about that. As far as you’re concerned, all of you, I’m your boss. You do not flirt with me. You do not hit on me. You do not ask me out. You do not assume I’m an idiot who wandered onto this site by mistake. When I tell you to do something, you do it. Other than that, all the usual rules of grown-up jobs apply. Show up on time, follow directions, and keep to the schedule. Am I really fucking clear?”

  There was a moment of startled silence.

  Finally, Dan spoke. “Really fucking clear…boss.”

  “Good.” Now she smiled, and Mal wished she’d smile more, because when she did, she was less scary. “This house looks like a wreck now, but we are going to bring it back to its glory days. Mr. Morningside has given the go-ahead for a full restoration, and that means we’ll have the budget to do right by this place.”

  “Where do we start?” Kevin asked. They all looked a little overwhelmed by the scope of the project.

  “Clean up,” Cara responded promptly. “I want half the team to work on the interior of the house. Pull out any debris, get it in the dumpsters, and note any unsafe areas with spray paint. The other half of you will clear the surrounding yard and make sure we can move equipment around and access the storage areas where supplies will be organized. I’m going to get the office in shape and review the blueprints before I tour the house. Knock on the office door if you have questions. Lunch is one hour, eleven to noon, and we knock off at four unless we get behind schedule. Ok? Get to work!”

  Cara nodded to them and turned to walk back up the steps to the trailer.

  “Wow,” Reyes said after the office door closed. That statement could have a dozen meanings, and Mal thought that probably all of them applied. Cara had a…forceful personality.

  “We’re going to take orders from a damn girl?” Barry asked. “How do we know she knows anything?”

  “Probably wouldn’t have got the job if she didn’t,” Dan countered.

  “Or she slept with the real boss,” Barry said with a dirty grin, obviously picturing the scenario. “Some guys like ’em big.”

  “Not cool, man,” Jalen said shortly.

  Barry grinned wider, responding, “Bet you like ’em big, huh? That’s, like, part of your culture.”

  Mal took a breath. Do not punch someone your first hour on the job.

  Jalen, who must have had a side gig as a Zen master, simply took a few steps into the yard, as if deciding where he was going to plunk down a lawn chair.

  Mal relaxed. If Jalen could handle it, so could he. “We should split up and get started,” he said, hoping to get into the house and see if the existence of the hellhole was evident to ordinary people.

  But Barry had different ideas. And Mal knew that by the time this job was over, he was going to make Barry very sorry he’d ever joined the crew.

  Chapter 3

  At the end of a backbreaking day, Mal hauled himself home. He had to wait until the others left, because he didn’t want to explain that he lived literally across the street. Cara’s vehicle remained, and the lights blazed in the office trailer. Everything about her said workaholic, but at least it meant her attention was not on Mal.

  He reached his front porch, and the door opened before he could even take out his key. His younger brother, Lex, beamed at him. “You smell terrible and look worse. How was your first day?”

  “Interesting.” Mal was in no mood to talk about it, but he had to, because his brothers were relying on him to be the eyes and ears of this operation.

  Operation Hellhole, Lex called it, only half joking. Once the brothers realized that the house was going to be worked on, it seemed like an inspired move to get one of them onto the actual construction crew. That way, they’d get firsthand knowledge of what was happening. The only downside was that Mal was the only plausible choice as the undercover Salem. Dominic was too important to the brothers’ business to commit to a long-term job—he might have to leave town at any point if a paying client called. And Lex didn’t exactly project the right image for the role. Mal did. Big and physical, Mal looked like he should be driving a bulldozer or just hauling lumber around. He was very aware that his strength was…his strength. He didn’t resent it. But he was still damn tired at the end of the day.

  “I thought you’d be hungry,” Lex said. “I made a little extra for dinner.”

  Dom walked into the kitchen. “Oh, good. I can’t wait to eat.” He wrinkled his nose when he got within sniffing distance of Mal. “But shower first.”

  Agreed. That comment came from Behemoth, a big black cat who was curled up on an armchair. I’ve been in charnel houses that smelled better.

  “Shut up.” Mal didn’t need the cats piling on too. He showered in record time, his growling stomach providing motivation. When he dried off and pulled on his clean but worn sweats, another cat sauntered up. The little calico sniffed at him, and then conveyed her opinion.

  Much better. Now come feast.

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Pie.” Piewicket purred when Mal scooped her up and walked her downstairs. She was definitely the sweeter of the two cats.

  Lex’s little extra proved to be a huge lasagna casserole, garlic bread, a side of pork chops, and an
apple pie for dessert.

  Lex also said the Salem family’s grace that night. “May this food feed us, bless us, and give us the strength to stand for those who cannot fight for themselves. Those we love who cannot be with us now, may your spirits always be welcome. Amen.”

  “How is pork a side?” Vinny asked after grace, regarding the platter of meat with suspicion in her eyes.

  Mal smiled at Dom’s very recent—and very decent—love interest. “Don’t be normative, Vin. Pork is a side if we say it is.”

  Her real name was Lavinia, but she went by Vinny, which was basically all you needed to know about her as a person. Vinny was platinum blonde, tough as nails, and took shit from exactly nobody. Mal was actually a little intimidated by her. But since she was very likely going to be his sister-in-law at some point, he figured he’d better get over it.

  Since moving in with the Salems a few months ago, Vinny unofficially took over as the office manager of their family business. She organized their financial system—ok, she made a system out of the piled up chaos from before. She spoke to potential clients, she arranged the brothers’ schedules and jobs. She organized the pantry.

  When Mal once commented on her weird ability to manage a demon-hunting business when she hadn’t known demons existed three months ago, Vinny had said, ‘Demons aside, it’s not that much different from any other business. You got income, you got expenses. If I can manage tours for bands composed entirely of drunken punk rockers, I can do this.’

  Now Vinny made a face as she passed Mal the plate of pork chops. “Enjoy your meat orgy. I’ll stick to the salad.”

  Lex just laughed. “Mal’s a growing boy and needs his strength to rebuild the hellhole house.”

  “Speaking of that,” Dom said. “What does the hellhole look like? What state is it in?”

  “I didn’t see it directly,” Mal explained. “I was stuck on outside duty today. Apparently, Mexicans excel at yardwork. That’s what Barry said anyway, when he put me and Reyes out there. Never mind that Reyes is from El Salvador. And I’m only half-Mexican.” The other half was Irish, but no one ever asked Mal about his thoughts on Guinness. His de Silva side was a lot more visible.

  The mood at the table turned arctic. Dom, in the act of putting a giant square of lasagna on his plate, stopped and said, “Who did what now? How hard did you punch him?”

  “Barry is a guy on the crew who fancies himself a manager. He took one look at Reyes and me and said we’d be perfect for landscaping. Oh, and Jalen too, though he’s black. And I didn’t punch anyone.” Yet. Mal had plans to kick Barry’s ass at some point. He had to admit the irony of the racist dude being correct in this instance. In the yard, Reyes explained that he actually did work in landscaping—his cousin’s business—for ten years, and Jalen said he had five years’ experience with a tree maintenance business down in Florida. They all laughed about it, and agreed that Barry was a tool.

  “You are not getting paid enough for this,” Lex muttered after swallowing his food.

  Mal shrugged. “A day’s delay won’t matter. I didn’t want to push things by complaining about being on outside duty. The foreman already doesn’t like me.”

  “What’d you do?”

  “Uh, nothing. But she seems like she doesn’t really like anyone so far. Probably because she didn’t personally choose us. She said all the hiring went through the law firm that controls the trust.”

  Vinny raised a hand. “She?”

  He briefly told about Cara, and produced a business card he’d liberated from her car during lunch. “Michaels Historic Homes. There’s a website. I’ll check it out and see if it’s legit.”

  Everyone had more questions about the house, and Mal answered them as best he could. Mostly, he promised that he’d get inside the next day.

  “We need eyes on that hellhole,” Dom said. “I have to know what it looks like. Take lots of pictures.”

  That would be difficult, especially since Cara warned him specifically against photos. But maybe he could get a moment alone and get some shots.

  “Pie time,” Vinny interrupted once the main dishes were demolished. “Lex, when did you make pie today?”

  “I didn’t. It was in the fridge,” Lex confessed.

  Mal said, “Yeah, Sheri made it. She wanted my help with something yesterday, and I wouldn’t let her pay me. But you know her. She couldn’t let me out of the house empty-handed.”

  “And she paid you in…pie?” Lex raised an eyebrow.

  “Yes. Just pie.”

  “It’s not fair,” Dom said as he took a piece. “You’ve got like seventy exes and they’re all basically nice. I had one ex and she turned into a literal vampire.”

  “She also didn’t make pie like Sheri’s,” Lex added, wiping apple goo from his mouth.

  Sheri did make a damn fine pie. Mal ate two pieces and thought about why things with her didn’t work out. Sheri was super nice, not to mention hotter than a supermodel. Maybe he was freaked out by the fact she had a kid from a previous boyfriend. Mal didn’t think he was old enough to be a decent father figure, and he was definitely not ready to settle down.

  Meanwhile, Lex was eyeing the business card in the center of the table. He loved research. He read out,

  Michaels Historic Homes

  Restoration and Preservation

  Cara Michaels, principal

  Lex grabbed his laptop and went immediately to the website listed on the card.

  They crowded around to see, and it sure looked legit.

  There was a big photo gallery, which made sense. Lex skimmed dozens and dozens of photos of jobs—before and after shots that looked like something out of a magazine. The before shots looked like houses that had been condemned, and the after shots looked…amazing. Not just cleaned up rooms, but new walls and lots of custom touches that must cost a fortune. Carved wood panels and columns. Bookcases, fireplace mantels. Staircases that looked like some king was about to walk down them. Wooden sculptures.

  “Wish we could hire her for our place,” Lex joked.

  “I doubt we could afford it.” Dom pointed to a picture of a room with hand-carved columns with the appearance of vines growing all up and down them. “That’s the kind of thing that millionaires do.”

  “What’s that one?” Mal asked. Lex obligingly expanded one shot, which was of Cara bending over a wood carving on a table, tools in her hands as she did some detail work on it. It was one of the few photos with her in the picture. Maybe she was usually the person taking the pictures. Maybe she was camera shy. Maybe both.

  “I think she’s the one actually carving all this stuff,” he said. One thing he could tell for sure was that she was the real deal. Whatever else she might be, Cara was a skilled professional.

  “You got to get in there, Mal,” his brother said seriously. “If this girl is so good, we need to know exactly what she’s working on. And if she knows what she’s doing—magically, I mean.”

  Mal chewed his lower lip. Maybe she was just a regular person, hired to do a job, with no awareness of the house’s history or its supernatural qualities.

  Of course, that didn’t make her less of a threat.

  “This girl, is she going to be a problem for you?” Dom asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  Lex interjected, “He means are you going to screw this up because you’re going to try to screw her.”

  “Whoa. She’s not my type.”

  Dom raised an eyebrow. “She sounds like your type. And by that I mean she has a pulse.”

  “Shut up,” Mal said sulkily. He wasn’t that bad.

  “You are that bad,” Lex said. Lex wasn’t a mind reader, but he sometimes hit the mark way too well.

  The last thing Mal should do after a long day’s work and a huge dinner was work out, but he felt restless. He headed downstairs, having been excused from washing up by Vinny, who told him he was more likely to break all the dishes than clean them.

  Mal’s workout space occ
upied most of the basement. He had a heavy bag, a speed bag, and a few dummies with sensitive spots painted with targets on the surface.

  He did his usual warm-up routine. Speed drills, forms, everything to keep him in condition to fight. Once warmed up, he moved into more complex sequences, testing his speed and reactions. And then he started adding his own, very particular practice.

  After years of training, Mal knew how to dance right on the border of the otherworlds, slipping in and out, using the border both as cover and a tunnel. People on the outside, in the real world, only saw that Mal moved fast, faster than he ought to. They didn’t know that he was basically cheating, taking a shortcut through another dimension, only to pop back into the real world in exactly the right place to land a perfect hit.

  Mal was driven to excel at fighting, because fighting was the only thing he could excel at. He wasn’t magically gifted like Dom, able to cast spells with such speed and confidence that it left observers astonished—or destroyed, in the case of demons and vampires. He didn’t have Lex’s incredible intelligence, his spongelike brain that soaked up every scrap of knowledge and somehow stored it like a supercomputer.

  But Mal could kick ass. And he would keep doing it as long as his body held out. That was what his brothers needed him to do, and he’d never let them down.

  Until I lose.

  The thought popped up, as it often did when he was alone. It was not a good thought. Not a thought that helped him as a fighter. A few of his teachers explicitly addressed the issue of overthinking. A lot of times, a fighter’s biggest enemy was his own doubt, not his opponent’s physical strength.

  He’d learned meditation to help deal with that, to stay in the moment, to put aside past regrets and future fears.

  It worked most of the time.

  But there was always this one thought, worse than a nightmare. At least he could wake up from nightmares.

  The thought was simple, and logical, and chilling.

  There was going to be a fight that he would lose. He’d be too weak, or too tired, or too old, or just unlucky. He’d lose and he’d get killed. And he would leave Dom or Lex open to the next attack. And their deaths would be his fault.